Musings of a broken weapon
by nissassa
Summary: A one-shot on "What would Rōshi's last thoughts would be during the extraction process".


**A one-shot on "What would Rōshi's last thoughts would be during the extraction process". This piece was done some time ago and I am not up to latest Naruto manga so if they have some new revelation during these insane resurrections I do not know about them. We know very little on the four-tail's container so I speculated some from the little we do know. Certainly angsty fic.**

Rōshi woke up in pain his mouth open in silent scream; it took him a moment to get his bearings together and to ignore the pain. He felt his chakra coils burning away from overload, the chakra of the biiju he housed forcibly being siphoned; And then he remembered those red eyes, those cursed eyes of the Uchiha and that blue skinned swordsman and his sword. The fight that he lost or rather the fight for his survival that he lost. He remembered vividly as his jutsu were countered as if they were merely an annoyance. He had never fought a water-release user so proficient, the whole point of his lava release was that it was less vulnerable to water release, when compared to fire-release. He remembered his biiju cloak nullified by the sword that ate chakra and then blacking out.

He had no doubt about what was happening. It was taking all his concentration to ignore the pain and focus on thoughts. He knew his fate and in an hour he had come to terms with it. Not that it would have required more time, from a young age he had known he was a weapon; rather it was the only thing he had known. He was meant to be a weapon and that was what he was, he had come to accept his fate twice in his life, once when he was a naïve child who was brainwashed to believe that he was a weapon. His views had changed when he went on missions, he had felt some sort of comradeship with his team although they barely acknowledged his presence, yet it was sufficient for an eleven year old when no one had ever given him anything other than a look of hatred, disgust and fear. Once when he had saved his team-mates life he had seen an unsaid thank you, he understood that people would not risk coming close to him, lest they too suffer the village's wrath. But that small look had done wonders and in his preteen years he had gone through a rebellious phase and thought that little by little he could change people views, that that single instance had been a start on which he could build upon. He had been trained since he could walk; he had mastered his lava-release to an acceptable level according to Tsuchikage, which was exceptional in most people's eyes.

Then war struck, he was sent to frontlines and as in most shinobi wars greater or lesser they were not direct, enemy struck hard and fast and left just as quickly leaving death destruction and chaos. He thought maybe this was his chance to prove himself, he had eagerly accepted the mission to be the part of a sabotage and demolition team.

He performed exceptionally; he was able to do what others could only wonder about. He had inhuman stamina and chakra even by shinobi standards. Destroying outposts and building was his main job along with the responsibility to help his team escape. He was not trained for assassination or stealth, he was never good at it, but he could take on whole Black Ops squads and Jounin squads by himself, buying precious time for team.

Soon his name spread, the villagers now knew of his efforts by the time the war ended, Iwa was not victorious, no one was, the only victor was the one that survived; countless lives were lost; for what?

So that some people could have the bragging rights and call themselves the top dogs.

Konoha had come out as the top dog again, they were celebrating and the Tsuchikage was seething and mourning his son's death.

But what about him?

While others were considered heroes, he was seen with fear. The looks of hatred and disgust were gone now; he was considered a monster, an abomination. That was the last straw, the purpose he sought other than being a weapon was lost, and he had accepted the second time in his life, that he was a moster, a demon.

Then what was human? He had mused this question countless time when not on mission, he did not have anything else to do, did he? Human was not someone with two eyes, two hands, two legs and straight back. No, human was someone who was accepted by others as being human. He was not, and hence he was not a human either.

He had pondered then what made humans, human?

And all the answer he could muster was that while he was cursed and cursed the world with death and destruction, it was not out of his own will, he was forced to do so. While humans were the beings that willingly cursed themselves and others, they cursed the whole world merely by their presence. Nothing else was required of them to curse the world; they themselves were a curse to the world.

He had felt happy after that epiphany of sorts; he was not amongst those hypocrites now.

Two months after the war, the psyche evaluations had arrived. Him being the weapon he was, the Tsuchikage had taken an unhealthy interest in his life. He was deemed as a danger and was given the license as a wandering nin. He was to complete the missions handed by tsuchikage and not return to Iwa until called. He was to be away from the only home he had known, in case he snapped and let the biiju loose.

It had been a relief to be out of the damned village. Doing missions and seeing the world had been his lifestyle for some years now.

Returning to the present he carefully looked around his mindscape, seeing the monkey behind the cage who was watching him carefully, Roushi merely smiled. He was going to be free, he was going to die. Did he regret his life?

He could happily say he did not, there were some regrets, some things he wanted to do, but no one could have anything. He prided himself for surviving so long in the cursed world. Most shinobi died half his age still being gennin, atleast he reached where he was! He never committed suicide as he had seen others do. He was a survivor and he survived what the world threw at him

He had lived long enough to see and understand the world unlike those 14 year olds who lost their lives when they could barely start thinking. It could have been worst, he decided; he could have been a subject to experiments done by the ninja villages, he could have been subjected to the breeding programs, and maybe he would have been a slave to those Nobles.

No, he did not lead the worst life; there were others who had worse fate than him.

Bringing himself out of his musings he looked around and saw the monkey fading away, his life long companion that had looked after him like no other, for however selfish reasons, the monkey had looked after him more than anyone. He mouthed a small thank you to the rapidly fading figure caged in front of him.  
The Akatsuki had completed the extraction process by now and Rōshi's body fell on the ground.

Grimacing in pain and counting his last breaths he saw the last glimpse of the cursed world as he called it and cursed the world for being the way it was. He cursed the Tsuchikage for killing his mother after his birth; he cursed his father for being a traitor resulting in him being chosen as the vessel. He cursed those in power for wars, he cursed them for needing weapons, he cursed the creator for his situation, and finally cursed himself for never finding another purpose, to never achieve happiness. The world was turning white and he found amusement in it, during his childhood he had always wondered death as all going black.

That was it; the most he could chance were two painful breaths, three if he was lucky. He could sense nine vague forms near him that he previously could not, being in pain. Whoever these people were, he had heard rumors about them; they could not be doing it for the good of the world, whatever they did would result in misery pain, death and destruction. Yet they were not sealing the biiju in a child, rather it was a statue for which he was happy. Perhaps the world would reap what they had sown through all those years. His death would not go in vain, they created a weapon and even its destruction would case deaths, countless deaths of those hypocrites in his village who were sleeping peacefully enjoying their lives at the cost of his.

A bi-colored figure rose near the still body and a large Venus fly trap like extension opened devouring the body from foot to head; no one ever saw the small smile forming on the face as life left it.


End file.
